The courtyard was bright and warm after the cold underwater darkness. A welcome change to dry off my soaked clothes.

  I squinted against the morning sun as Mary and I dried ourselves with towels the church had provided. My robes clung uncomfortably to my skin, still damp despite my best efforts. Mary seemed unbothered, wringing water from her blonde hair with practiced efficiency.

  "Your Highness!"

  A young nun approached wearing all black, face completely observable, unlike her male counterparts. Women didn't need to take the oath of facelessness in the Church.

  Or, it was better to say they weren't allowed to.

  The young nun bowed deeply, hands clasped in reverent prayer.

  Mary smiled warmly, returning the gesture with equal grace. "Ah. Sister Agnes. The Almighty's blessings upon you."

  The woman seemed to light up from hearing her name come from Marys lips. She bowed a second time, even deeper than before.

  "And upon you, Your Highness."

  I watched the back of the nun as she practically skipped away with enthusiasm as my smile twitched a bit.

  I feel like the dark cloud blocking the bright sun.

  We'd barely taken three more steps before another priest intercepted us.

  "Sister Mary, what an honor-"

  "Father Benedict. I trust your studies progress well?"

  The man seemed slightly shocked, probably from Mary remembering his name. He bowed even deeper than the nun, respect heavy in his voice.

  "By His grace, yes, Your Highness."

  Then another. And another. And another. Each one stopping to bow, to offer greetings, to bask in whatever radiance Mary apparently carried.

  I rolled my eyes, wringing out my sleeve with slightly more force than necessary.

  I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm almost jealous of Mary.

  "Something wrong, Damian?"

  Interrupted from my thoughts, I glanced at Mary who now adorned a teasing smile.

  "You're popular." I said flatly, ignoring her provocation.

  Her smile turned knowing. "I don't visit the Seventh District often, much less Saint Fredrick's Cathedral. To them, this is probably an honor."

  "As humble as always."

  "I have to be. Pride is one of the seven pillars of sin, after all." she replied without missing a beat.

  We continued walking, weaving between clusters of white-robed figures who parted like water before us. The courtyard was vast - white stone stretching endlessly, punctuated by carefully maintained gardens that probably cost more to water than most families earned in a year.

  "The Academy starts in about a week," Mary said, her tone shifting to something more businesslike. "Introductory classes first - general knowledge, integration sessions. Then we move to our respective schools."

  I nodded. "I'm guessing you're entering the Imperial Scholarium?"

  Mary's expression brightened slightly. "Good. You do remember me explaining it."

  "I have a functioning memory, believe it or not."

  "Sometimes I wonder." She glanced at me, golden eyes amused. "And you'll be joining the War Academy, I assume?"

  "That's the plan." I shrugged. "Mine will be filled with training, combat trials, and probably getting berated senseless by instructors. Yours will be tea parties and politics classes."

  Mary's smile widened. "It's not as pleasant as you make it sound. And for your information, I'll be attending basic combat classes as well."

  I was a little surprised, looking at her with a questioning gaze. "You're serious?"

  Mary seemed unfazed by my questioning.

  "Completely."

  I stared at her. "I think it's a good thing for you personally. But because of your gender, you'll stick out like a sore thumb. Do you even know how to draw a sword?"

  She winked. "My beloved uncle taught me many things with regards to combat."

  My smile twitched at the mention of her beloved uncle.

  Of course he did.

  I bit back a sigh.

  That man had his fingers in everything, didn't he?

  After finishing the thought, something bumped into my shoulder.

  "Pardon me, brother," a priest muttered, face hidden beneath his hood. He steadied himself with one hand against my arm.

  "My fault." I said reflexively.

  The priest nodded and continued past. But as he did, I felt something slide into my palm - small, folded paper pressed against my skin with practiced precision.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  I closed my fist around it, shoving it into my pocket as Mary continued walking.

  "-of course, the Scholarium also requires proficiency in the three main languages of the Empire, so I've been brushing up on my Vallesian, since it's what we nobles speak, and - Damian? Are you listening?"

  "Yeah, languages. Very important."

  Mary's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she let it pass.

  I cleared my throat. "Actually, speaking of training - I just remembered I have a swordsmanship session today. Completely forgot about it."

  Her expression fell slightly. "Oh. I was hoping we could-"

  "Another time." I offered an apologetic smile. "Promise."

  "Fine." She sighed, though her concern leaked through. "But Damian, please don't push yourself. You were coughing blood this morning."

  "Yeah, yeah. I won't, Your Highness."

  I turned and jogged away before she could protest further, boots crunching against white stone as I headed toward the cathedral's main exit, already stripping the black robe off my shoulders.

  Behind me, I heard Mary call out."I'll hold you to that!"

  I waved without looking back.

  ---

  The Ministry of Health was a monument to bureaucratic efficiency.

  Or at least, it tried to be.

  The building loomed ahead - grey stone and brass fixtures, windows arranged in perfect rows like a prison. Steam vents hissed along its sides, belching white clouds that mixed with the perpetual haze hanging over this part of the city.

  Inside was chaos.

  Clerks rushed between desks stacked with papers. Officials in dark coats barked orders. Citizens crowded a long counter, each one clutching documents and wearing expressions ranging from desperate to resigned.

  The air smelled of ink, sweat, and something vaguely medicinal that made my nose itch.

  I approached the nearest clerk - a woman in her thirties with hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful. She was juggling three separate conversations while simultaneously sorting through a mountain of paperwork.

  "Excuse me-"

  "Wait your turn, please," she said without looking up, smile perfectly polite and perfectly empty.

  "I need to see the Physician named Henry Caldwith," I continued. "About my neck injury. From the fall at my residence two weeks ago."

  Her hands stilled.

  The smile didn't falter, but her eyes thinned - just slightly. She glanced up, meeting my gaze for a fraction of a second.

  Then she turned to another clerk. "Marcus, take over for me. I need to escort this gentlemen to a very important meeting. He's late."

  She stood, smoothing her skirt with mechanical precision. "Follow me, please."

  We walked.

  Through the main hall. Down a side corridor. Then another. And another.

  The noise faded. The crowds thinned. Soon we were moving through passages that looked abandoned - walls streaked with grime, gas lamps unlit, dust thick enough to leave footprints.

  The woman stopped at a door at the corridor's end.

  Without a word, she bowed her head and left.

  I watched her retreat for a moment, then turned to the door. Plain wood. No markings. Nothing to distinguish it from any other forgotten storage room.

  I knocked in a specific pattern.

  Three short. Two long. One short.

  The lock clicked.

  The door swung open an inch.

  I pushed it the rest of the way and stepped inside.

  ---

  Two men, one standing the other sitting, hunched over a map spread across a table. Both wore full Inquisitorial uniform - black cloaks, articulated leather armor beneath, and masks that turned their faces into featureless voids.

  They didn't look up as I entered.

  "Sit." the one on the left said.

  I pulled out a chair, lowered myself into it, and placed the folded paper on the table. "You wanted to see me?"

  The man on the right who was standing traced a finger across the map, connecting points with practiced efficiency. "Twelve incidents," he said. "All within the last month."

  I leaned forward, studying the map.

  Vermontis was written in flowing script across the top - the capital of the Central Empire. The city was divided into twelve districts, each one marked with its own boundaries and labels.

  And in each district, a red dot.

  My eyes found the newest addition - the Seventh District, where the airship Celestine Lumineux had been attacked last night.

  "Twelve districts." I said slowly. "Twelve incidents."

  "Precisely." The man on the left finally looked up. His mask was blank, but I heard the weight in his voice. "And thanks to your... performance last night, it's no longer containable."

  The man on the right produced a newspaper clipping, sliding it across the table.

  The headline dominated the page in bold print:

  NIGHTLURKER ATTACK IN THE SKIES - MINISTRY CLAIMS CONTROL, BUT THE RESULTS SPEAK OTHERWISE

  I snorted. "Propaganda machine must not be working today."

  "The best propaganda," the man on the right said, standing slowly, "is the kind that pretends not to exist. The information has spread too far. There's no use trying to hide it now."

  "So what now?" I asked.

  "That," the man on the left said, "is what we're asking."

  Silence settled over the room. The only sound was the faint hiss of steam from somewhere deep in the building's guts.

  The man on the left leaned back in his chair. "This isn't random. The plague has only ever affected females of noble birth. We've noticed. The Inquisition brass initially gave it low priority - seemed non-infectious, transmission only through syringe injection. But so far, all tests have brought up nothing."

  "Not to mention," the man on the right added, "everyone affected has had their memories of the past month wiped clean."

  I nodded slowly. "You're in a tough position."

  "We're in a tough position," the man on the right corrected, voice sharp. "You're instrumental in this investigation, after all. If it wasn't for your master's protection, we would've conducted tests on you already to figure this thing out."

  My smile was thin. Internally, I hoped the annoyance on the right realised I was mocking him.

  For once, I'll have to be thankful to that crazy bastard. Then again, he's the one who dragged me into this hyper-religious CIA in the first place.

  "Cease." the man on the left said quietly.

  The man on the right fell silent.

  "However," the left one continued, "he's not wrong. You're too involved not to feel the repercussions of this. Which brings us to your new assignment."

  I raised an eyebrow. "New assignment?"

  "You'll be attending the Imperial Academy with Her Royal Highness. As such, you're being transferred to a new handler." He paused. "And you'll be introduced to your new team."

  My expression soured. "Team? I thought I wasn't joining a cell."

  "You're not," the man on the left said. "You're creating one. Two new Inquisitors have been picked specifically for your... unique character."

  I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Okay. And then?"

  "You'll continue hunting Nightlurkers - even if it interferes with your academic duties. The Inquisition will handle the consequences." He folded his hands. "The investigation is being transferred to your new handler. For what they're doing, you'll have to ask them yourself."

  "Gotcha."

  "One more thing." The man on the right reached into his coat and produced a metal cartridge - rectangular, about the length of my hand, with brass fixtures at both ends.

  He slid it across the table.

  "Your master sent a package."

  My eyes lit up.

  Bingo.

  I picked it up, turning it over. Engraved along its side in elegant script were the words:

  Look after my niece while I'm gone. Try not to screw anything up as well, brat.

  My eyebrow twitched.

  I feel like a dog being ordered around with treats.

  I slid the compartment open and peered inside.

  Cigarettes. At least sixty of them, lined up in perfect rows.

  I smiled despite myself.

  Maybe being a dog isn't so bad.

  "You're dismissed." the man on the left said.

  I stood, pocketing the cartridge as I headed for the door.

  My hand touched the handle when I stopped, glancing back.

  "Where and when am I meeting this new team?"

  "Abandoned rubber factory complex in the Eleventh District," the man on the right said. "You'll see a red ribbon on the door. Enter there."

  "And the time?"

  The man sitting took out a pocket watch and flipped it open - glancing at it briefly before flipping it shut.

  "Sundown. So in around six hours." He paused. "Tonight."

  I stared at him.

  "Tonight?"